


bloodsport

by kairumption (lapmonster)



Series: the runaways [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Canadians, Cigarettes, Dirty Talk, Fist Fights, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, References to Drugs, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, mentions of guns, semi-background kaixing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6296716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapmonster/pseuds/kairumption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions are high between the Black Pearl Motorcycle Club and the Wolf Pack, rival biker gangs with a long history of violence and bloodshed. Sparks fly when Wolf Prince Chanyeol and Luhan, the Black Pearl’s darling, meet on barely neutral ground, ending in an “unfriendly” confrontation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bloodsport

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to [livejournal](http://rumwrites.livejournal.com/1201.html):
> 
> i can't believe i finished this before my kaixingforyou entry rewrite (sweats). my hopeless opus...
> 
> anyway, how did i end up writing chanyeol/luhan??? or a biker gang au for that matter!!?!? well, in any case, it’s all coke’s fault. on a related note, hAPPY VERY BELATED BIRTHDAY, COKE!!!!!!! special thanks to [luna](https://twitter.com/LunarBabe_) for coming in as substitute beta to keep at least most of the fic a surprise. 
> 
> yes, all the chinese members are french canadian. don’t question it. i apologize to any canadians (french or otherwise) for this miserable (mis)representation of your great country and culture. i hope the sacres were used properly. and to any bikers reading this? i learned everything i know from tv and the internet?? sorry about it??? (but what are you doing reading gay k-pop porn? i mean, i don’t judge but…)
> 
> oh, and in case you missed it, it’s based on this [photoshoot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f79QUpVAC6I). the sequel will be a kaixing :>

_So don’t fight me now_  
_‘Cause you might need me later_  
-Raleigh Ritchie, “Bloodsport”

Back against the red brick of a filthy back alley, Han Lu, better known as Luhan, took a long drag of the cigarette held between his thumb and forefingers. Slouching, he squinted into the dimming light, withdrawing his hand and breathing shortly to invite the smoke into his lungs. He looked altogether out of place, pretty boy with sunny blonde hair perfectly coiffed away from a face of delicate, soft features. In his black leather jacket and ripped jeans, he looked more like the hybrid monstrosity of nifty-fifties greaser and modern-day frat brat than a fully-patched member of the Black Pearl Motorcycle Club, pockets weighed down with plastic baggies of meth. Still, the handgun tucked in the waistband of his pants dug into his back, heavy with deadly promise.

His compatriots didn’t seem to play their parts well either. 

Sehun Oh stood beside him, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, away from the wall. He had just been inducted into the fold; the tattoo on his back was still stinging, making him quiet and seemingly pensive. Pointed chin and too skinny, he also didn’t look the type but his sour expression made up for it. While Luhan’s dyed hair may have made him look almost wholesome, but Sehun’s succeeded at hinting his delinquency, at least an inch of roots coming in dark and stark. 

On Luhan’s other side was Jongin Kim, broad shoulders filling out his jacket to almost stretching, strong jaw clenched with anxious energy. He was pretty like Luhan, but a different kind: by all accounts the tall, dark, and handsome stranger. The deep shade of his skin sloped over high cheekbones, and his lips were plush and pink from worrying them between his teeth.

The only indications that he would be anything other than sweet and earnest were the hard-set of his brow and the tattoo at the side of his neck before his shoulder began: a black circle comprised of distorted triangles as though rotating inside it and forming a pentagon in the middle, akin to a camera shutter opening and closing to take a picture. It matched an identical one on Luhan’s forearm right before the inside of his elbow. It was meant to be a snapshot of their lives, a symbol of their loyalty to each other before the clan. 

Where Sehun was stoic and statuesque in his silent pain, Jongin tapped out beats into his adjacently parked motorcycle and shifted his feet in a nervous dance.

“Would you relax?” Luhan said to Jongin, chuckling out smoke.

“We’re pushing it, Lu,” he commented, voice timid but still deep as he flexed his leather-gloved fingers over the handles of his bike. Jongin always hated dealing, hated the whole scene. It didn’t help that they were encroaching on enemy territory either. 

Eyeing the antsy Jongin, Luhan smirked, teeth denting his cigarette. They should have left the grease monkey in the garage where he belonged—all Jongin cared about were the bikes, and his sisters. Back when he was just a mechanic, before he got patched, he’d just work on the bikes. There were a few members he had befriended, Luhan included, but mostly he had just kept his head down. That was until one of his older sisters developed a nasty dependence on amphetamines and ended up owing the club a lot of money. As some sort of twisted courtesy, they (with Luhan’s coercion) welcomed Jongin as their brother to even the score. Looking at him now, Luhan wondered if it had been the right thing to do.

Clearly agitated, Jongin stood there jiggling his legs and looking very much like he needed a smoke but was too keyed up, ready to hop on his bike and _bolt_ , to light his own.

“Here,” muttered Luhan, slightly irritated, shoving the cigarette in his direction.

Taking it from him, Jongin nodded his thanks. After a puff: “This is nearly Wolf territory, you know that, right? _Prince Chanyeol’s_ haunt, even.”

“I think that’s why we’re here,” supplied a grimacing Sehun. Although it took him a while to become a Black Pearl, he’d been friends with Luhan long enough to know how he thought.

Jongin choked on smoke, coughing and hacking. “You _lookin’_ for trouble?” he spluttered. “You’re going to find it.”

“You’re still so green,” laughed Luhan. “ _Baptême_ , they’re not going to _kill_ us. Relax.”

“What makes you say so?” challenged Jongin. “‘Cause they haven’t yet? That’s rotten logic.”

“Your head is what’s rotten,” he countered without ire, playfully cuffing Jongin’s ear while taking back his cigarette.

Ear smarting, he pouted like a child, like he wasn’t talking about Luhan risking their lives. “I’m not the one lookin’ to start a _war_.”

“Relax,” he repeated, taking one last, long pull before putting the cigarette out with the sole of his boot. He promptly lit another one.

“What are we _doing here_?” whined Jongin. “Waiting around so you can beat your chest and fling your shit like some animal asserting dominance? Trying to prove that you’re a _tough guy_? A _‘real man’_?”

“Watch it, Jongin,” warned Luhan darkly, delicate features twisting into a glower.

He quickly changed his angle: “We got _customers_ , man.”

Sehun scoffed. Most days, he and Jongin were the best of pals—they had attended the same high school and the both of them had worked in the garage before it fell to Jongin’s management—but the simple truth was that Sehun had chosen this life, and Jongin hadn’t. “Since when do you care about runnin’ shit?”

Jongin hissed in response, voice husky and desperate, “Since our Luhan here decided to incite a _gang war_.”

Sehun smiled for the first time that day, a shiteating grin if Jongin ever saw one. “We’re a club, remember, not a gang.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sehun,” parried Jongin, mocking him with lips curled and eyes rolled.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” injected Luhan before clearing the smoke from his lungs. “I’m not starting anything, just doing a little border patrol. The Wolves are the ones who have been spreading out, this is a counter measure. Or do neither of you pay attention in meetings?” It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t a whole truth either. He wasn’t under any direct orders, and he wasn’t exactly taking initiative either… There was just something about Chanyeol…

Truth be told, Luhan had grown bored of territorial tussles before he even got officially patched into the club. Chanyeol Park, however, successor and “prince” of the Wolf Pack made him bristle. Nothing quite got under his skin the way Chanyeol did. It crawled inside him like an unwanted parasite. And that made him want to test boundaries. But there was even more to it than that… 

Jongin grumbled, thumb drumming against his bike; his other hand curled around the switchblade in his pocket. “I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t _have_ to like it, you just have to stand there and look intimidating.”

Jongin pursed his lips in another pout, picking at the engine grease beneath his fingernails—looking every bit a cuddly teddy bear and not the grizzly the gang expected him to be. Luhan rolled his eyes, cuffed his ear again a little harsher than he intended, but made up for it by showing a reassuring, dazzling smile before returning to his cigarette.

Jongin grumbled, then asked, “What is your deal with Chanyeol, anyway?”

Luhan twitched. “Deal?”

Sehun gave Jongin a warning look, but he continued anyway: “It’s like you always want to rile him up.”

Luhan smiled prettily, teeth glittering. “What can I say?” he began, eyes catching on something in front of him Jongin couldn’t see yet. “I like playing with big, dumb animals.”

A breath of a laugh sounded to Jongin’s right, and he flinched, whirling in the direction of three Wolf Pack members. In the middle stood Chanyeol, towering over the rest like a giant, black bedhead pushed to sweep over one side of his forehead and a scowl adorning his handsome face. They didn’t call him the Wolf Prince for nothing: he was a fierce sort of beautiful—a kind of fatal charm—with pointed, elven ears and high cheek bones. 

Jongin ducked a little in reflex, tunnel-visioning front and center to the Wolves’ second-in-command… who Luhan had just insulted. Bowed head, he sent Luhan a look: _We’re gonna die_. In that moment, he sincerely wished he was actually good with guns and had more than a pathetic knife to coil his fingers round.

Luhan, on the other hand, made not so much of a twitch toward his gun and continued to smoke at leisure. The cigarette sizzled between his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing here,” growled Chanyeol without inflection, hackles raised and an angry smile at his lips as he approached the three. 

“Doin’ _nothin’_ ,” answered Luhan nonchalantly. “Havin’ a smoke, is all.” In demonstration, he held it up, and a smirk found his face again. He added, dripping with innuendo, “Why? You wanna _bum_ one off me?”

“You tryn’ to say something—?” interjected the short man to his right, heavily accented, before Chanyeol cut him off with an arm in front of his chest. 

It was only then that the Black Pearl side looked at the thugs beside Chanyeol. The silent one Luhan recognized right away as Zitao Huang, Montréalais and a veritable giant himself—shorter in height than Chanyeol, but he had a more squared frame and acutely defined muscles bulging beneath his jacket. Dark, puffy circles ringed intense eyes and frayed, spiked out hair framed a uniquely sharp, hostile face; he was the only one among them that looked like a killer. Rumor had it that each of the multiple piercings that dotted his ears was for a man he had murdered. However, the man on the other side, who had spoken, was new to Luhan. Built but short, with powerful legs and a moptop of pitch-hued fluff, his face was unassuming, soft, and sweet. Even glaring daggers as he was now, he still didn’t seem like someone who would hurt a fly, much less join a violent band of criminals. 

Jongin squinted at the newcomer. He looked familiar…

It was less like a light bulb illuminated above Jongin and more like it smashed over his head. Yixing Zhang. It had been years, but it was definitely him. The same kid who would stand on the back of his bicycle, hands gripping his shoulders, as they zoomed off to their next great adventure. Jongin's shoulders burned in memory of those small hands, nails cutting into him when he’d bank on a particularly sharp corner. He remembered the warmth of his body when he’d sit behind sometimes, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers splayed flat over his chest, cheek resting on his back. He remembered shushing Yixing through smiling lips as they crouched, stealthily sneaking into the movie theatre when they were too young. He remembered how the dip of his dimple had felt beneath his lips… 

Indeed, Yixing _hadn’t_ been one to hurt flies. But… Yixing had left Vancouver, gone back to his parents in Québéc… Surely, he hadn’t joined the Wolf Pack… It didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t _right_. And to see him again… 

Wryly, Humphrey Bogart’s voice played in Jongin’s head: _Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…_

As Chanyeol silenced him, Yixing quietly ground out through gritted teeth, “ _Câlisser une volée_.” Luhan narrowed his eyes. The newcomer may have looked harmless but somehow he found the threat of essentially getting the fuck beat out of him all the more potent in his native tongue. A small part of him laughed, though, at the thought that Chanyeol seemed to surround himself with Canadien français like Luhan himself. 

He wondered if he had a _thing_ for accents.

Meanwhile, Yixing was soon distracted from his fury by Luhan’s comrades, eyes falling on Jongin and widening in equal recognition. He went from growling wolf to stricken puppy in seconds flat. Jongin could see his Adam’s apple bob in a nervous swallow, teeth worrying his bottom lip, fingers distractedly fiddling with his belt buckle. They said nothing to one another, only gazed in silent wonder.

Their secret staring contest went on unnoticed, as Luhan and Chanyeol were wrapped up in a world of hate. 

Aside, Zitao and Sehun began their own exchange of menacing looks, prefaced with a slight, defeated shrug that said, _Might as well_ , from the Wolf. 

A subtle smirk found Sehun’s lips as he considered returning the almost playfully murderous glare with goofy faces instead. One glance at his friend’s severe expression and he decided against it though, settling for an honest eyeroll and a small jerk of his head in the direction of the nemeses. 

He was rewarded with an eyeroll in reply.

Although they had both begun the club life with zeal and were still very serious about their work, this whole territorial battle for dominance seemed a little… contrived. And frankly, a fucking waste of their time—not that Sehun would ever let on that he agreed with Jongin, not to Luhan at least. Luhan did indeed seek to rile Chanyeol up, for one reason or another; from what Sehun saw in Zitao’s eyes, his prince wasn’t so different when it came to Luhan.

Luhan’s face relaxed into a saccharine smile. “I’m just being friendly,” he defended after a beat in answer of Yixing’s question ( _before_ he’d threatened him), putting his hands up. He took another casual drag, turned back to Chanyeol. With his other hand, still held up in would-be surrender, he pointed at Yixing. “He new?” he asked, sincere but smirking.

Luhan half-expected Chanyeol to defend his underling, but instead the corners of his lips twitched, craving a smile. “More or less.”

“Enough, huh?” he commiserated. Luhan may not have been second-in-command, but he was high enough on the totem pole to understand stubborn subordinates.

The twitch came again, but he shook himself, quashing the potential smile with a frown. “You’re on our turf,” he reminded.

Luhan’s expression darkened, tossing his spent cigarette to the ground. “This is unclaimed territory now. But you wanna file a claim? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Chanyeol parted his lips as if to speak, tongue unsticking from the roof of his mouth; then he closed it again, swallowing to try to wet his dry throat. He didn’t know _what_ he was going to do about it. He clenched his fists. “You really just… piss me off,” he muttered. “You got no respect—”

Luhan interrupted him in the form of striding toward him until he was right in the guy’s face. Too close; too intimate. “ _What are you gonna do about it?_ ” he repeated in a dangerous undertone. His forehead aggressively pressed into Chanyeol’s; Chanyeol could feel his breath on his still-open mouth.

Flinching, Chanyeol recoiled and drew back his fist in rageful instinct. Luhan saw the punch coming, lips drawn in an unsettling grin that only encouraged Chanyeol’s swing. It connected brutally: the blow split his lip and knocked him to the ground. 

“ _That’s_ what I’m going to do,” quipped Chanyeol belatedly, panting with exertion and anger.

Jongin and Sehun surged forward, fists raised—but Luhan waved them off, jerking his head pointedly in the direction of Yixing and Zitao. It would have been a fair fight, yes, three on three, but that wasn’t his goal. The Black Pearls silently seethed at the order but obeyed nonetheless. Pumping full of adrenaline, however, they stayed on the balls of their feet, ready to spring like a taut coil. 

Luhan spat red, the unsettling grin turning into a megawatt, bloodstained smile as he pushed himself to his feet using a bike on hand for leverage. The vehicle hardly gave when he sat heavily upon its seat, slouching but still grinning like a madman. “ _Tabarnak_ ,” he swore softly, rolling his jaw. “I think you loosened some teeth with that one.”

Chanyeol ignored the comment. “I’m gonna ask you again, what are you doing here?”

Luhan barked out a mirthless laugh. “To get a _rise_ outta you, of course. Isn’t that how you li—”

But Chanyeol had already cleared the space between them, hand clamping down over Luhan’s mouth. 

Jongin and Sehun lurched forward again, but Luhan waved them off insistently, never breaking eye contact with Chanyeol’s intense stare. He glared down at him menacingly but Luhan’s face was set as if in steel: his eyes, usually so wide and deer-like, were narrowed with reciprocal fury—never betraying what was actually happening between him and the gang prince. He didn’t so much as cock an eyebrow when he pushed his lips forward against Chanyeol’s palm. They yielded sweetly against the other’s skin. When his tongue darted out past them, swiping over the taste of sweat and tobacco, his eyelids only fluttered a moment that went unnoticed by their witnesses but was devastatingly suggestive to Chanyeol.

Chanyeol’s nostrils flared, trying desperately to regulate his breathing, all but panting at the secret seduction. A flush broke out through his body, heat flowing over him in waves and sweat beading over his forehead despite the aggressively cold Vancouver autumn. Luhan continued the languid movements of his tongue, pressing it flat to Chanyeol’s hand then lazily twisting over the grooves of his palm. Chanyeol had to fight to stay still, fingers tightening painfully against Luhan’s cheeks. But he didn’t stop, watching as Chanyeol’s pupils dilated with arousal. 

Though it felt like an eternity, the moment passed between them in only a matter of seconds until Zitao stepped forward, breaking his apparent vow of silence. With his hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder, he warned in an undertone, “Not here, not like this. We don’t _actually_ want to start a war.”

Chanyeol broke from his trance, pulling his hand away and making it into a fist to keep it from shaking. He stepped back stiffly, looking away from Luhan’s eyes only to see where his fingertips left marks on that deceptively angelic face, where his knuckles bruised those alluring lips.

“How about it, Chanyeol?” spat Luhan, blood staining his mouth like lipstick. “Not a gang war, not a street tussle, just you and me and our bare”—he licked his reddened lips—“hands. How about you tell your lackeys to _va chier_ and we have a real fight?”

“Fuck you, Luhan,” he snapped, voice cracking slightly.

“That a promise?” he insinuated. Chanyeol went pink. “You’ll know where to find me.” With that, he nodded to his own lackeys, swung a leg over his bike, and sped off with one last wink.

Chanyeol was thunderstruck, silently watching as they left. Beside him, Yixing had a similar expression on his face, though he ducked before anyone else could notice, idly fidgeting with his belt buckle again. 

Finally, Chanyeol unclenched his hand, the hand he had held over Luhan’s mouth, and looked down at it. It had dripped a tiny puddle onto the concrete from where Luhan’s blood had smeared over it. Without thinking, Chanyeol brought the bloodied hand to his lips and licked.

Zitao made a face. “That’s nasty.”

But Chanyeol wasn’t paying attention. Luhan’s voice, _You’ll know where to find me_ , echoed in his mind.

✮☆✮

It wasn’t until several hours that Luhan’s words would prove true, when Chanyeol strode into yet another filthy back alley and found the man much like he had found him earlier: leaning against the wall and smoking. He had just finished up a handoff with one of their dealers, feeling fresh and faintly buzzed with adrenaline; even with something so everyday and mundane, in his life at least, the danger of being caught was still an intoxicating high—an addictive one, in fact.

Why else would he keep coming back to Chanyeol?

“Where the fuck have you been?” hissed Luhan with a subtly playful lilt once he spotted him, putting out his cigarette. “‘S’fuckin’ freezing.”

Chanyeol scoffed at this because they had lived in Canada their whole lives and it was only _autumn_ for fuck’s sake, even as his cheeks and ears were flushed from the cold. He sniffed, and responded without answering the question while watching his breath float out with his words, “You took it too far today.”

It sounded like there was a warning in his voice, but not in a way Luhan had expected. He had figured Chanyeol would scold him for nearly outing him, for putting his reputation and career and life in danger with his behavior, but—it sounded more like concern. Like he cared. Cared what happened to Luhan, and not just himself. The corner of Luhan’s lip lifted, quietly, coyly, but he didn’t let himself believe Chanyeol was truly worried for him. 

Before he was patched, Luhan had been a scaredy cat. Although he was much farther down the chain of command, like Prince Chanyeol, Luhan had also inherited the “family business,” as it were. And he had grown up terrified of the life he would eventually lead. He had been young and stupid (oh, he still was), when he found liquid courage. Too young for bars, he’d sneak in with older men with the promise of drink and a quickie. One night, this promise led him stumbling into a Wolf den, where the men were big and mean-looking but Luhan’s brain was crackled and slow, skin buzzing from the booze, and wolves were the last thing on his mind. 

“You can’t bring your rentboys here,” the bartender had hissed to his “date.”

He had grunted, “We just came for a drink, you know worse has happened in that washroom,” before slipping him a few extra bills.

“The _Prince_ is here,” he had warned, pocketing the bills anyway, eyes darting in Chanyeol’s direction.

When Luhan had spotted him, he whispered under his breath, “Long live the prince.”

The rest was a blur; staring outright at Chanyeol as his ears grew increasingly hot and red under Luhan’s gaze and the influence of alcohol; excusing himself lazily, thanking the man who took him there but telling him not to wait up. He hadn’t even had anything more from the bar but a sip or two, the high ebbing—but a different tingly, exhilarating feeling, a mix of fear and excitement, filled his belly. Had he, at the time, known what Chanyeol was a prince _of_ , maybe he would have stayed at the bar, but fear had never been fun before. 

What he didn’t remember was Chanyeol downing another shot before joining him in the dingy washroom; or the way he clenched his fists before opening the door; or the held breath that left him the moment he saw Luhan waiting for him.

What he did remember was Chanyeol trying to deny that he was “gay,” as if that mattered, assuring Luhan that he just didn’t do this kind of thing. But he had complied when Luhan had rolled his eyes and told him, “Fucking kiss me already.”

And he had begged him not to stop when Luhan tongue-fucked him against the stall door.

They didn’t learn each other’s names until much later—while working. Luhan had been conquering fears left and right, with status and promise and a brand spanking new tattoo on his back. All he did was look across the invisible line between the two gaggles of Wolf Pack and Black Pearl Motorcycle Club members, and lick his lips slowly, as if reliving his taste. Chanyeol made him bold.

After that, Chanyeol sought him out, with curses and pleas growled in undertones.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” demanded Luhan testily, if not still a little coquettish.

“You’re not the only one who can tease.” The smirk on his face thinned, lips pursing then skewing to the side: a shy dimple debuted on his cheek. Luhan’s stomach dropped; he had to silently agree with him.

He kept on staring as Chanyeol walked toward him, heated anticipation coiling in his stomach. He stayed where he was though, leaning even farther back into the wall. Not retreating, but inviting a chase. When they were with their respective crews, it was Luhan who pursued Chanyeol, who instigated touch, who slyly seduced him under the eyes of everyone else—but when they were alone, he waited for Chanyeol to come to him. In the long days between rendezvous it was an excruciating, frustrating wait… but when they were alone, he took his time. He let Chanyeol take his time. 

In the end he was rewarded. With only a couple quick, look-both-ways glances, Chanyeol closed the distance between them. The temperature had dropped since their previous encounter, their breaths just barely visible as they left their bodies and danced through each other. Luhan remained immobile, frozen, even as Chanyeol’s hand lifted and ghosted over his jawline. The backs of Chanyeol’s fingers were gentle, turning over, knuckles giving way to nails that hinted against Luhan’s cheek without pressure; Luhan’s eyelids shuttered at the almost-touch, teeth grit down with impatient restraint. Once Chanyeol had actually taken ahold of his face, the rest of his hand stayed still as his thumb continued in its meandering, stroking over his chin. 

Entranced, Chanyeol stared down at Luhan’s lip, at the cut he had split that was already scabbed over now. His expression turned apologetic, even though this was the ruse they had agreed to, even though this was part of their game. Luhan shook his head ever so subtly, eyelids heavy. To assure him, Luhan bit his bottom lip where Chanyeol had struck him. He pulled it slow through his teeth to coax him close.

With that prompting, the softness of Chanyeol’s previous caresses was forgotten, pupils dilated and mouth parted; he pressed his thumb over the hurt, dragging. Luhan made a sound halfway between a growl and whimper, a sound that hooked Chanyeol behind his belly button and made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He pressed harder, and Luhan’s jaw dropped open in a new moan.

With that, Luhan lost all willpower, no longer able to hold back. He pushed forward, grabbing Chanyeol by the upper arms and pressing their bodies flush together. Chanyeol chuckled softly, lips brushing Luhan’s ear, the breath sending shivers down Luhan’s spine. 

“Fucking _kiss_ me already,” mumbled Luhan impatiently, harkening back to their first meeting, pushing back against his shoulders.

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

Finally, their lips met, and Luhan made _that sound_ again. Chanyeol murmured unintelligibly against the corner of his mouth, like he was answering. Luhan only hummed, a minor inflection: a half-assed question. He didn’t want any more answers, only kisses—and what came with them.

Chanyeol pulled away anyway, despite Luhan’s protesting fists gripping his jacket, but just barely. He stayed close, rested his forehead against his with his breath coming out against the other’s lips. As if he were finishing his previous thought, he said, “And you’re not the only one who waits.”

So he was aware of their little game, thought Luhan wryly as he pulled him back. Chanyeol’s frame enveloped him, arms crushing; Luhan hummed into him, hips snapping against the thigh now dividing his legs. He leaned back, distributing his weight on his shoulders against the wall, and his ass on Chanyeol’s knee. He rubbed himself up and down the length of Chanyeol’s angled thigh as he pressed closer and closer.

“I couldn’t wait to get you like this,” admitted Chanyeol huskily, voice straining. Luhan’s hands, still cold, found his hips, fingers skittering under the hem of his shirt. “Alone,” he gasped, pressing into the touch. He hissed against Luhan’s neck, “Couldn’t stop thinking about you under me,” before dragging his teeth over Luhan’s pulse point.

 _Sweet talker_ , Luhan wanted to quip, but Chanyeol’s tongue took the space his words would have. He scoffed into the kiss, knowing that the only time Chanyeol was ever on top was when he was riding him.

He kissed him in earnest, pressing his thigh higher against Luhan’s groin. Startled, Luhan cried out, high and loud so that Chanyeol had to muffle his mouth with his hand again. This time it was gentle, calloused fingers softly tracing fine lines over his lips. He grinned down at him, a little smug, and kissed the back of his own hand where it stayed at Luhan’s lips. Luhan hummed insistently, eyelids fluttering closed and licking up between Chanyeol’s knuckles—a ludicrously more explicit reenactment of the day’s previous encounter. 

Chanyeol pushed forward, removing his hand to kiss him again even more fervently. Luhan grunted as his lip split once more from the aggressive kiss. He pulled back, lip glistening red and pretty. 

“S-sorry,” said Chanyeol, breathless. 

Luhan grinned despite himself. Although he enjoyed the dark-eyed, angry Chanyeol, this kind of sheepish, second-guessing Chanyeol was his true favorite. He shook his head, planting his hands on Chanyeol’s chest. “We’re still in broad daylight. Let’s go somewhere you won’t have to muffle me.”

“I still would, you’re annoying,” scoffed Chanyeol, licking his lip before freezing at the taste of Luhan’s blood. Still, he added, “You need a muzzle.”

Luhan made a face like he was considering it, flustering Chanyeol even further. The still-rhythmic, slow rocking of his hips against Chanyeol’s thigh wasn’t helping either. Chanyeol’s ears were burning red; Luhan could have chalked it up to the cold, of course—but he doubted it.

Chanyeol shrugged to cover up a shudder. “There aren’t a lot of places we can go.” He looked up. “A rooftop,” he reached, at a loss, “maybe?”

“I may dabble in danger, prince, but I draw the line at heights.” There was a smirk on Luhan’s lips, but fear in his eyes.

Chanyeol softened at that, breaking out in one of his characteristic toothy grins. “So you _are_ human.”

“Only sometimes. Besides”—he interrupted himself to lick at his still-bleeding bottom lip—“it’s cold as balls. Come on, I know a place we can go.” He disentangled himself, grabbing Chanyeol by the hand and guiding him from the safety of the abandoned alley.

Chanyeol shook free, whipping his fist back to his side. Luhan only shrugged.

They reached their destination within minutes, fingers tucked away from the cold in the pockets of their jackets. Chanyeol nearly tripped at the sight, stumbling back to stare at Luhan. “Your _gang’s garage_?” he whispered harshly. 

They were coming at it from the side, shivering slightly, but even in the dimming light he could easily see the cartoony, saluting robot sign and broken, neon scrawl of _Transformer’s Auto Repair Shop_. Although it had been rebranded when Jongin inherited the place, it was still dingy and grimy. A ripped, orange awning straight out of the seventies hung over an arched entrance with a sign that said _We’re open!_ and four off-white, dust-layered garage doors in a line. It wasn’t that it looked rundown, only a little… pitiful. 

If they were able to attract customers outside of their own criminal band, Chanyeol would have been surprised—although he did see a car up parked up the street. Probably just some junkie though, he dismissed. 

Chanyeol looked at Luhan with some skepticism. “This place is crawling with Pearls. You tryna get me killed?”

Luhan smirked. “I’d have killed you myself a long time ago if that was the case,” he quipped. Chanyeol somehow found a little comfort in that. “C’mon,” beckoned Luhan. “There’s a back entrance.” He pulled him by the hand again, and this time Chanyeol didn’t drop it.

The inside wasn’t much nicer. Harsh and hot yellow lights lined the hallway to the dim office, yet the concrete under their feet was unyielding and cold. Chanyeol shivered at the drastic temperature changes as they passed through, over the threshold into an office. They were shrouded in ugly old blinds that rattled loudly when the door opened and closed; another door, leading to the garage, was on the wall kitty-corner. The room itself was plain, distinguished only by dusty metal file cabinets and a messy desk (complete with a dully-lit lamp and piled with papers), that Chanyeol had no doubt they were going to fuck on. 

Even so, he was uneasy. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “Isn’t your crew still here?”

“No one goes back here during hours,” assured Luhan after locking both doors, returning to pull Chanyeol to him in another kiss that made his toes curl in his shoes. “And the owner, well”—he sucked at Chanyeol’s lip before finishing his thought—“he’s loyal to _me_.”

Chanyeol twitched in mild annoyance, mostly at himself for the spike of jealousy that poked through his stomach. In spite of himself, he continued to let Luhan push his jacket back off his shoulders; he always seemed to let Luhan do what he wanted in spite of himself. 

“That pretty boy you were with earlier?” he asked anyway, pseudo-casual.

Luhan took a moment to admire Chanyeol’s now-revealed arms: decorated with tattoos on either inside forearm before the elbows in plain, almost gothic typeface: Happiness to Luhan's left, Delight on the other; another that Luhan couldn’t quite make out at the moment but had seen countless times before, resided on the outside of one forearm and looked like a watercolor splash of pastel hues—as if his skin were a canvas an artist had scribbled on. 

Despite these distractions, Luhan still caught Chanyeol’s underlying tone. He pressed back into Chanyeol’s space, mouthing at his neck, just so that his eyelashes caught Chanyeol’s jaw when they fluttered. Chanyeol’s lips parted in a moan he kept silent in his throat. “Why?” breathed Luhan, standing slightly on his tip toes so his words touched the other’s pointed ear. “Are you jealous?”

Chanyeol tried to answer _no_ , but the word caught in his chest when Luhan began a trail of kisses from his jaw over the speedbump of his throat, palm pressed flat down the center of his chest. Chanyeol's Adam’s apple bobbed under Luhan’s lips before he left for the other ear. “I thought what or who I did on my own time didn’t matter to you?” he questioned, words muffled slightly by the way his lips were crushed against the shell of Chanyeol’s ear.

“It _doesn’t_ ,” he ground out once he found his ability to speak again.

“Whatever,” chuckled Luhan, nipping at his earlobe then stepping back. “Now stop being a little bitch and take off your pants.”

Chanyeol bit his clothed shoulder in retaliation to disguise how affected he was, but did as he commanded.

“Put your hands on the desk,” said Luhan evenly, surveying him calmly—only the quick swipe of his tongue over his lips showed any indication of his unaffected demeanor being merely a facade.

 _Fuck_ , thought Chanyeol, already getting hard much to his chagrin. He knew, of course, how much Luhan was holding back; he wondered how long it would last.

It was a bit of a bend, as he was almost all leg, spindly and bowed. It was the desired effect: Chanyeol’s ass out where Luhan could comfortably cup it while continuing to whisper against his ear without strain. He tried not to gasp when Luhan’s cold hands found him with a tiny _smack_ of flesh, taking a momentary pause to knead into the sensitive skin before wandering up the length of his back. 

Luhan pushed Chanyeol’s shirt up with one hand, leaving the rest to hang over his back and conceal his Wolf Pack tattoo, the other hand teasing near his rim as Luhan kissed down the other’s neck before dipping to suckle at his flank. Chanyeol groaned, head hanging. 

He liked being marked—but out of sight, bruises and hickeys hidden beneath his clothes like secrets. The secrets they kept between them. Luhan knew not to let them show, no matter how many times he had whined into his neck to claim him as his own, but they were only empty promises. So he would bite into his side, the edge of his shoulder, until Chanyeol’s head fell back and his eyes squeezed shut in the confusing mix of pleasure and pain. He hated how much he loved those bruises, absently pressing fingers into them, blood and memories rushing back to Luhan, always Luhan. There was a dependency attached to those marks, like the rising yearning manifested in the form of swollen colors fading back into flesh. 

He hated it the same way he hated Luhan himself. (He didn’t.)

The tiny room heated up quick—or maybe that was just the flush spreading over Chanyeol’s chest, his cheeks, ears. Remaining clothed, Luhan let go of Chanyeol’s shirt and fished out the lube from his pants pocket, now free of meth and his handgun. When he took his fingers away from where they’d been teasing, Chanyeol actually _whined_. 

Grinning, Luhan nosed his jaw, humming low, before whispering an echo of what Chanyeol himself said earlier, “I couldn’t wait to get _you_ like _this_.” He lubed up his fingers, rubbing together to warm them but they were still a shock when he returned them to Chanyeol’s hole. 

He winced, sucking in his bottom lip in the process of a hiss. Luhan’s forefingers traced over Chanyeol’s rim in circles, spreading him just slightly before dipping in and out but only ever enough to tease. Chanyeol squirmed so pretty, so nice beneath him, the sounds traveling up his throat an intoxicating high in of itself; so Luhan drew it out, pulled those sounds from Chanyeol as long as he could before he eased a finger in to the hilt with little resistance. It was only once he pushed another finger inside and Chanyeol moans grew higher that Luhan started murmuring in his ear. 

“You know,” he began, lips pursed against Chanyeol’s jaw, “there are two mechanics outside.”

Chanyeol froze. “But,” he said haltingly, out of breath as Luhan hadn’t stopped fingering him, “you locked the door.”

He hum-chuckled an affirmative into Chanyeol’s pulse point before adding, “They have keys.”

“What the _fuck_!” hissed Chanyeol, voice raising.

Luhan shushed him through smiling lips, giggling and nuzzling into his neck. Chanyeol was trembling with anger and nervous energy, but an electricity—powered by risk—buzzed beneath his skin and he had to laugh too; somehow being _this_ on-edge was doing it for him. His dick twitched. _Really_ doing it for him, _wow_. He shivered at the knowledge.

“I thought you were going to take me somewhere we could be loud,” he quipped, but his voice broke with want.

Laughing again, Luhan answered, “I’m sure I could find that muzzle you mentioned.”

“ _Jesus_ , Han,” he said, laughing and scolding and exasperated and _turned the fuck on_ all at the same time.

“Isn’t it better like this?” asked Luhan in response, voice dropping lower. He whispered in his ear, “What if they found you like this? Huh, prince? Spread for me like this?” He bit his ear just as he slipped a second finger inside him. Chanyeol groaned, grip sweaty and shaky on the desk. Luhan continued, “They’d see how much you want it? How much you need me to make you come?”

Chanyeol was nearly panting at this point, Luhan’s fingers working faster inside him; he then curled them, finding Chanyeol’s prostate just to tease. Chanyeol cried out when he rubbed it, but Luhan didn’t want it over too soon.

“Can you even get off without thinking about me?” he asked, mostly rhetorically but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

Instantly, Chanyeol thought of the marks that Luhan would leave him with: how he would press into them imagining the hands that had created them in the first place as he would clumsily attempt to finger himself but could never live up to the real thing. _Could_ he get off without thinking about Luhan? He hadn’t even tried. 

But he didn't answer, instead he whispered, "Oh shit," when he looked down at himself to see precum beading at the head of his dick. "It's gonna get on the floor. Shit."

The other nodded, obligingly smoothing his palm over his cock to rub the precum over him, helpfully, just so it wouldn't drip.

" _Shit_ ," repeated Chanyeol for an entirely different reason, higher-pitched this time. His eyes closed, eyebrows high.

The fingers of Luhan’s other hand stayed rubbing over the bud inside Chanyeol, driving him wild, as he pushed another inside him. Chanyeol’s cock jumped in Luhan’s hand, the pleasure in his prostate zipping directly to it. Luhan could feel the climb of his orgasm and pulled away, removing his fingers abruptly. Chanyeol whined again, too gone to be embarrassed to be bent over clinging to a desk with his ass out and _whining_.

Luhan pushed aside any and all obstructions from the desk, sweeping the back of his hand over it and upending a cup of pens and pencils. 

It made little noise, but Chanyeol still stopped his bleary blinking to hush him. “What are you even doing?” he asked quietly.

In answer, Luhan turned around to face him again and hopped onto the desk, careful to keep clear of the lamp and Chanyeol’s fingers where they were still clinging to the desk corner. Chanyeol raised his eyebrows when Luhan opened his legs and patted his thighs invitingly.

“What?” He shrugged a little, eyebrows twitching up in a way that betrayed the innocent gesture. “You wanted me under you.”

Chanyeol let go of the desk shakily, his ass wantonly clenching around nothing. He licked his sweaty lip, staring at the bulge in Luhan’s jeans. He decided to be bold, because _for fuck’s sake_ , he was naked from the waist down and he wanted to spin Luhan’s head for once. With jelly knees he closed the space between him and Luhan, big hands taking hold of Luhan’s wrists and stroking his pulse points before kissing him softly. 

Luhan groaned into the kiss, skin tingly where Chanyeol’s thumbs squeezed, knowing he could feel how fast his heart was racing. It was too soft, too tender, heart fluttering like hummingbird wings. But then Chanyeol pulled away to look down at Luhan’s crotch again and they were back to their regular carnal selves. Luhan suddenly felt all too warm under the heat of his gaze. Chanyeol let go of Luhan’s wrists, now favoring the zipper of his pants, pushing them down with his underwear to expose his cock and muscular thighs. He considered blowing him for a moment as Luhan quickly grabbed at his pocket for a condom, thought about stretching his lips around him and swallowing him up but—he wanted Luhan inside him too much. 

It was excruciatingly slow-going, but Luhan helped Chanyeol get his knees on either side of his hips. As he lowered himself, hands spreading his cheeks in preparation, Chanyeol gaspy-quipped, "You sure you're okay with being this high up?"

Luhan shook his head, chuckling, "You're an ass," but his voice grew high and strained on the last word, the tip of his cock meeting Chanyeol's rim.

Smirking, Chanyeol’s hands found purchase on Luhan’s chest and shoulder as he eased himself down around him.

“ _Câlice_ , you’re tight,” commented Luhan quietly, mostly to himself, but Chanyeol loved it.

In response, he squeezed around him and Luhan _growled_ at the sensation. After all that effort he had put into shutting him up earlier that day, Chanyeol wanted him to say more. 

Instead, Luhan stayed quiet and leaned back on his hands, watching Chanyeol try to move up and down around him. He pushed Luhan onto his back as he tried to move against him, bracing his hands against Luhan’s chest, shirt falling off one shoulder. One of the pens he had scattered over the desk was needling into his back but Luhan didn’t care, enraptured by Chanyeol’s attempts at rolling his clumsy body. His movements were unwieldy, all but bouncing on Luhan's dick, relying on momentum rather than flexibility. Luhan bit back the moans that threatened to escape his lips, but Chanyeol wanted them _out_. Wanted him to say something, anything.

No, not just anything. Chanyeol grew antsy, fidgeting fingers on Luhan’s stomach. He wanted to hear Luhan, wanted him to tell him about the mechanics, how dangerous this was, how good he looked riding his cock. 

But like _hell_ was he gonna ask.

"Look at you," admired Luhan suddenly, hands landing on Chanyeol’s thighs where they straddled him, "taking me all in." As if he had read his God damn mind.

But then that was it, there was no more out of him. There was a stretch of breathy silence before: “What else?” sighed Chanyeol.

“Hmm?” hummed Luhan in question, distracted by watching Chanyeol’s cock list into his inner thigh. “Wait,” he said, double-taking. He looked up and Chanyeol practically shrank beneath his gaze, cheeks and ears redder than ever. He bit his lip, practically giddy, and laughed, “You want me to tell you more about how desperate you look for me? You’re gonna have to beg.”

“ _God_ , I fucking hate you,” muttered Chanyeol.

“That,” said Luhan as he stopped thrusting into him, hands firm on Chanyeol’s hips now to keep him from moving, “doesn’t sound like ‘please’.”

Chanyeol whimpered, trying to grind into him but Luhan’s fingers held him in place; Chanyeol couldn’t help but think of the bruises he was leaving behind, bruises he would revisit later, and a flush over his chest flared anew. “Please,” he whispered, barely audible. When the other cocked his head to the side in mock-confusion, Chanyeol moaned, “ _Please_ , for _fuck’s sake_.”

At a loss, Luhan licked his lips. This was too hot, his mind was blanking on what he _could_ say. It was one thing to say all those things as they came to him, it was another beast entirely for Chanyeol to be _begging_ him for it. “Please what?” he asked, just to stall.

"Talk dirty or whatever," whined Chanyeol plaintively, desperately trying to snap his hips forward. "Please."

Luhan hadn’t planned this far ahead. Static buzzed in his head and the base of his skull, tingly down his spine and throbbing in his dick. _Wow_. Prince Chanyeol Park of the Wolf Pack was begging him to talk dirty. 

He tried to think of what he could possibly say but his mind kept drawing a blank. It felt like a lie-detector paper with the pen leaving behind one long, never-ending line of ink, a line surely pointing in the direction of Chanyeol.

More sounds of desperation came from above him, Chanyeol thinking Luhan was making fun of him again and cursing himself for liking to be teased so much. Another attempt was made to grind against him awkwardly, clenching and lifting his ass as best he could with Luhan’s fingers still digging into his skin. 

“ _Han_ ,” he gasped. “Please, God dammit, _please_ , okay.”

“I’m thinking,” responded Luhan, chewing his lip.

Chanyeol stopped his movements. “You’re _thinking_!?”

“What, you think I just have never-ending porn script of filthy thoughts I can refer to?”

“Well… yeah, a little bit,” he admitted, sheepish and shrinking.

Laughing again, Luhan rose up and kissed Chanyeol’s nose, only making Chanyeol shrink all the more. It had the same sweetness and gentleness to the soft kiss previous, a foreign and strange gesture that came with emotional territory Chanyeol had no inclination to claim. Luhan tried again to think of something, anything, to say that would satisfy Chanyeol’s lust for words but… only praises came to his lips.

He sat up, adding a cheeky thrust to go with it that made Chanyeol cry out sudden and loud. He hastily covered his own mouth as Luhan began to fuck up into him. 

He began, “First thing they’ll see is your ass, how you’re spread for me. How well you take all of my cock. Then they’ll hear how pretty you moan for me.” 

“Fuck,” murmured Chanyeol into his hands, tears springing in his eyes from the stretch and the low tone of Luhan’s voice.

But that one syllable tripped Luhan up, losing his train of thought. “Oh, you know what?” he blurted. “ _Fuck_ it, just come already,” and he grasped Chanyeol by the base of his cock and started jerking him off.

Chanyeol’s eyes went as round as saucers, then shut tight. “ _Lu…..Han. Ha...Han_.”

“Are you close?” breathed Luhan, one hand wrapped around Chanyeol’s cock, the other leaned back on the desk for leverage. “Are you gonna come for me, prince?”

He cried out again, fisting his hands on either side of Luhan and leaning forward into his touch. As he moved his arms aside, the lamp Luhan had so carefully avoided earlier was knocked off the desk! It fell with a clatter, metallic ringing continuing for an extended period long after it had landed. Wincing, they both stopped, mortified in silent horror as they stared at the spot where it had fallen. 

“Oh my God,” whispered Chanyeol under his breath, a look of terror in his eyes. But then he snorted, unable to hold back the incredulous laugh. Bowing his head, he put the clumsy hand over his mouth, smothering the giggles and hiding away his neatly-lined pearly whites. Luhan joined him, lips twitching between giggling and trying to shush him.

The laughter became more nervous the longer it went on, however, Chanyeol starting to quake in fear and anxiety. Calmer, Luhan reached up for him, hand gentle on his cheek. “It’s fine,” he assured him. “They didn’t hear, it’s fine.” He kept his movements slow, not wanting to scare him away. “Don’t go,” he added, whispered so quietly Chanyeol couldn’t hear him through the sudden thunder of bloodrush in his ears. Luhan kissed the corner of his mouth. 

It didn’t take long for the excitement to come back to Chanyeol like mercury in his veins. The source of thrill switched back and forth between terrifying and terrific, but he moved against the other all the same. He thought about how _close_ he was before, thought about if the mechanics did indeed come in: they’d see him come as Luhan fucked him open, leaning back and taking him all in and _so fucking into it_. It was a scary thought, but it was exhilarating.

His breathing evened out from the previous laughter, going low and deep in his diaphragm as his eyes met Luhan’s again. The fire was back in them, Luhan could see. Chanyeol put his hands on the other’s waist, gripping and thumbing at the ribs he could just feel underneath before slowly grinding. Luhan tilted his head back in a barely suppressed groan; for the third time that day, Chanyeol covered Luhan’s mouth with his hand. 

He leaned forward, almost pressing their bodies flush together. Luhan all but screamed against Chanyeol’s fingers at the new angle. Now it was Chanyeol trying to shush him through smiling lips, never stopping his movements. His hand slipped, fingers entering Luhan’s panting mouth. Luhan closed his eyes and _sucked_ without a moment’s hesitation and Chanyeol dropped his forehead to Luhan’s chest in utter disbelief and arousal.

Nibbling slightly, Luhan thrust up into Chanyeol, trying to seek purchase on the desk (that pen was still digging into his back) and sit back up. With his hands on Chanyeol’s ass, he managed to get back into sitting position, height difference dramatically displayed. Had they had a different relationship, Chanyeol would have kissed his nose. 

Instead, Chanyeol touched himself in place of Luhan’s hands, which were now preoccupied with spreading his ass cheeks and lifting him up and down on his cock. Luhan bit at the peak of Chanyeol’s shoulder, a dicey marking place to be sure—but worth it for the way Chanyeol groaned against his hairline, slick lips wetly dragging against his forehead.

With one hand fisting his dick, Chanyeol used the other to push Luhan back onto the desk; the speed of his hand picked up, as he had to hold back the softest of moans. His fingers digging into Luhan’s shoulder tightened the closer he came to release, the rest of his body trying to keep up with the way Luhan’s hips kept snapping up into him. As quiet as he could, Chanyeol reached his peak, mouth open and eyes shut tight against how fucking _good_ it was, whole body rigid and loose and ecstatic. Cum landed warm on Luhan’s torso; he hummed throatily at the spectacle.

Chanyeol bodily slumped like a wet noodle. But he didn’t let himself soak in the high for too long, blinking open his too-big eyes to look down at Luhan. 

“Now you,” he whispered. But Luhan couldn’t hear him, he was too blissed out as Chanyeol pressed him down with both hands fucked himself on Luhan’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” muttered Luhan under his breath, clutching to Chanyeol’s arms and trying to keep up as best he could. French fell from his lips in curses and blessings. 

He came embedded in Chanyeol’s warmth, suppressed moans huffing through gritted teeth.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered once he had rode it out and opened his eyes again.

Chanyeol smiled down at Luhan in such an unexpected way, a way that sparkled his eyes and lifted his cheeks and curved his lips so prettily, that Luhan found himself lost again. But then the moment was gone, sparkles dimming upon realization of what he was doing. He eased himself off of Luhan.

“Jesus,” muttered Chanyeol under his breath, over-sensitive and sore and blissed out as he roughly pulled his clothes on over shaky legs. He ran a hand through his hair as if to tame the sweat-slick mess, the other hand picking his phone out of his pocket. Back to reality. “ _Jesus!_ ” he decried when he read the tiny digital clock. 

“Out past curfew, young prince?” drawled Luhan lazily, leaning to the side to pull some tissues from the Kleenex box on the other side of the desk to clean himself off. 

"That's not _funny_ , Han," he retorted, looking around the room as though lost. “If my dad…” 

“You sound like a fucking teenager,” the other snorted. 

“Yeah, well. Try inheriting a biker gang some time,” he muttered, still winded as he scrolled through the numerous _Where are you!_ texts on his phone.

“Motorcycle club,” corrected Luhan distractedly, mimicking Sehun, and in turn Jongin by then rolling his eyes at his own comment. He carefully pulled the condom off himself only to carelessly knot it and throw it haphazardly into the trash by the desk. He was going to get an earful from Jongin later about that.

Chanyeol chuckled nervously. “I… I really gotta go,” he said, with an uneasy, too-toothy smile. After he had re-donned his jacket, he did a little awkward wave, eyes meandering down the length of Luhan's still bare legs, and hid the hand in his pockets when Luhan shot him a quizzical look. 

Then, because he was so out of it and disoriented and so well-fucked, he turned around to unlock the door to the garage.

“That’s—!” warned Luhan, too late, hastily pulling on his pants and zipping them up. But Chanyeol was already out the door. “Ah. Oh well.” He sighed, tilting his head and watching the blinds rattle on the closing door. “He’ll figure it out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> please, please pm me if you notice that i fucked up on any of the québécois french and i’ll try my best to correct my mistakes!! and then i’ll probably ask you to help me with the sequel too u3u i’m sorry for who i am


End file.
